Sweet Seduction

by Anthology

  It wasn't from Ian. It was from Daniel. Maura stared at it for a long moment, trying to figure out if she were disappointed or relieved.

  Hey. I was wondering if you'd like to get together for dinner and a movie sometime this week. I'd love to see you again before I leave. Give me a call.

  Maura looked at the clock. Though the day had seemed to last forever, her late lunch and the argument after with Ian lasting a million years, it wasn't even nine pm. Still early enough to call someone, especially if he'd asked her to. She dialed.

  "Daniel," Maura said. "Hi. I'd love to go to dinner with you."

  Chapter Nine

  I haven't been this nervous about a date in a long time. Heath's profile on Luvfinder was totally intimidating. First of all, he's gorgeous. Six foot three, black hair, brown eyes. Tall, dark and handsome epitomized. Second, he's a plastic surgeon who spends his free time climbing mountains and running marathons, when he isn't volunteering in homeless shelters and providing free facial reconstructions to children born with cleft palates.

  He's pretty close to perfect.

  What would a man like that see in me? I check my reflection again and again, wondering what it was about my profile picture, my carefully chosen questionnaire answers, that prompted him to make a connection with me. I turn my head from side to side, sucking in my cheeks to give my face the appearance of cheekbones. It's the most effort I've put into any of these dates so far, and it's not Heath who prompted it as much as my renewed desire to simply...I don't know. Make a fucking effort. Give all of this a real chance. So, I've plucked and powdered and primped, even going for a spa manicure and pedicure. My brows are freshly waxed, and so is everything else.

  Everything.

  I'm not used to be being bare there. Sure, I groom regularly, but for my own satisfaction, not some media-fueled idea of what women should do with their pubic hair. I'm not sure I like the sensation of my silk panties rubbing me so intimately. Everything feels so much more sensitive that, two days after I had it done, I still find myself shifting my thighs together when I walk.

  Looking in the mirror, I cup myself. The pressure of the heel of my hand against my clit shouldn't make me squirm, but it does. I press a little harder. Giving in to temptation, I slip my fingers into the front of my panties and rub, rub, rub. I've mesmerized myself, watching, and the pleasure mounts until I'm so quickly on the edge I'm going to surprise myself into orgasm...except that my phone trills from my dresser, and I pull my hand out of my panties with a guilty furtive look as though whoever's calling me could possibly have seen what I was doing.

  "Hello?" I sound breathless. Guilty.

  "Hi," Ian says. "What are you doing?"

  I look at my flushed cheeks and my nipples peeking through the lace of my bra. They've gone instantly tight at the sound of his voice. "I'm getting ready to go out. On a date. We're going to that new Asian fusion place for dinner, and then to the hookah lounge next door."

  He knows exactly where I mean, because he's talked about taking me there. Leather chairs, dark corners, a bar. Once he told me how he'd fantasized about using his hand to get me off on the leather couch tucked away in a shadowy alcove, the two of us in a room full of haze.

  "Oh," Ian says. "I guess I'd better let you get to it."

  "No, it's okay," I tell him, breezily. "I'm still getting ready. I have time to talk."

  "I don't want to interrupt --"

  I laugh like he's Shelly. No, more like he's a casual acquaintance I barely see, not Ian, my sometime lover. Not the man I'm so desperately in love with it hurts to even think about. "Don't be silly. I can get dressed while I talk to you."

  "You're not dressed?" There's a perk of interest in his voice I find utterly arousing and also infuriating.

  "Not quite." I smile at my reflection, imagining his face. "Just panties and a bra."

  "...Oh." Ian clears his throat. "Wow."

  My voice dips low. Husky. I run a finger along my collarbone and in the valley between my breasts. "Yep."

  "What color?"

  "Emerald green satin with black lace." He's seen me in this bra and panty set. Once he told me it was what he imagined me in when he stroked himself in the shower. Even if I hadn't been wearing it, I'd have said I was.

  Ian mutters something that sounds like a very soft and concerned, "fuck."

  "What're you up to?" I ask, like I care about anything but getting him to think about what he'd like to do to me.

  "Umm...I was...well, I was just catching up on some old episodes of..." Ian coughs. "Nothing much, really."

  "Not busy tonight?"

  "Not really."

  I give an exaggerated sigh and put oodles of oozing, cooing charm into my tone. "No big plans? Just hanging out by yourself, all alone?"

  "Yes." Ian's tone is clipped. I'm pissing him off or turning him on, I can't be sure which.

  "Well," I breathe, sexier than Marilyn Monroe ever was singing Happy Birthday, Mr. President. "Have fun with that."

  Then I disconnect. I have to grip my phone extra-tight in my shaking hand, my palms suddenly sweaty. The pale skin of my chest and throat have gone crimson, but I breathe and breathe until the color fades.

  Dinner is amazing. Heath is the perfect date, pulling out my chair, consulting me about my choice of wine. He looks into my eyes during our conversation, which he effortlessly leads in a number of different but intellectually stimulating directions without ever once making me feel like I didn't know what I was talking about.

  He is so fucking pretty I can hardly stand it. I've never seen such perfect eyebrows on a man. I want to trace them. Thick but groomed, arched just right over those thick black lashes framing deep brown eyes in which I want to drown. His mouth is made for kissing. No.

  His mouth is made for my cunt.

  So far, Heath has made no moves toward anything but dinner and the cigar lounge after. He asks me, sounding slightly anxious, if I'm sure I want to go there. He doesn't want to make me do anything I don't want to do.

  "I've heard a lot of really cool things about it, that's all."

  He's so tall I have to crane my neck to look up at him. "No, I've always wanted to try it out. It will be fun."

  Nodding, Heath reaches for my hand to hold as we cross the alley between the restaurant and the hookah lounge. It feels funny, holding his hand, even so briefly. It's so much bigger than mine. I'm suddenly overcome with an image of him on top of me. Inside me. He would engulf me, and thinking of it, I shiver. Turned on and a little put off at the same time.

  "Have you read 1984?" I ask suddenly as he holds the door open for me.

  "Huh? Umm, no. I don't have a lot of time to read." Heath waits until I go into the lounge, then follows so close on my heels he gives me a flat. "Oh. Sorry."

  It's awkward to hop a little while I fix the back of my shoe, so I grab his sleeve for balance. His other hand covers mine, helping me, and when I look up at him from this silly, bent-over position, I mean to laugh at how funny I must look. His stare stops me. His dark eyes are alight, that mouth slightly open. I catch the flash of his tongue, darting out to taste the center of his bottom lip, before I straighten.

  "No problem," I tell him. He hasn't let go of my hand on his sleeve, and this is more awkward then my little "fixing my shoe" dance.

  "Two?" The hostess wears a lot of dark eyeliner and pale lipstick. She leads us to one of the tables near the back.

  I see the leather couch in the alcove Ian coveted. It's occupied. A man and a woman sit close together, sharing a hookah pipe. His hand casually imprisons her knee against his, and the way she leans toward him tells me she doesn't mind. Not at all. Again, I am aware of how bare my cunt feels, how the press of satin and lace on my sensitive flesh has been teasing me unexpectedly for the past few days. As I watch, the couple kisses. His fingers press a little higher on her thigh.

  I want that to be me.

  "Hmm?" Heath has said something while I was distracted.

  "I asked if you read
a lot." He pulls the menu of different flavored tobaccos toward him.

  I sneak another glance at the couple on the leather couch. She passes the pipe to him so he can draw in a long pull of smoke. It curls from his nostrils a few seconds after that, and she tips her head back in laughter. From this angle, the table in front of them shields his hand. I wonder if he's moved it higher.

  "Oh." I pull my attention back to my date, who's looking at me curiously. "Yes. I do. Not as much as I used to, sadly. But I love to read. You don't?"

  "It's not that I don't like it," Heath tells me. It's obvious, though, that he doesn't like it. "I'm just too busy, I guess. Always something else to do."

  From what he's told me about his schedule, I'm not surprised. "Well. You always find time for things you enjoy, and reasons to put off the things you don't."

  Heath gives me a funny look and says again, "It's not that I don't like it."

  "No worries," I tell him. "I frankly can't quite wrap my head around the idea of strapping myself to a harness and dangling hundreds of feet over an abyss. But the good news is, the world's a huge place with lots of things in it to love, and we don't all have to enjoy the same ones."

  For the first time tonight, tension sprouts between us. Heath orders an apple-flavored tobacco without asking me what I'd like. I don't care, really. Never having been here before, I have no preference. But I notice how he looks at me from the corners of his eye and how his mouth works, as though he wants to say something to me but hasn't decided what.

  On the leather couch, the couple is kissing.

  I close my eyes for a second longer than a blink. My clit pulses against the insistent press of my panties; crossing my legs is a sweet torture I'm not ready to end. When I open my eyes, Heath is looking at me intently.

  "Why did you ask me if I read that book? Which one?"

  Over his shoulder, I can still see the kissing couple. His hand is definitely moving, his shoulder lifting and falling so slowly it would be impossible to tell if I weren't looking for it. I force myself to look at Heath. "1984?"

  "Yeah. I think I read it in high school."

  "You probably did. It's a good book." I wish desperately for something to drink. My mouth has gone too dry.

  "So...why did you ask me if I'd read it, just out of the blue like that?"

  He sounds way more concerned about it than is necessary, so I smile to ease this growing weirdness. "It was a throwaway comment, that's all. Something made me think of it, that's all."

  The server brings the tobacco and sets up the hookah for us. Unlike the couple on the couch, Heath and I each have our own hoses, tipped with disposable plastic tips, to use for the smoke. He grins at me.

  "Ready?"

  "Sure." I bend forward and draw the smoke into my mouth, letting it seep through my nose and settle in my lungs for a few seconds before I blow it out.

  "You've done this before?" He looks surprised. "I thought you said you'd never been here."

  "I haven't. My..." I hesitate, not sure what to name Ian. Ex-boyfriend? Ex-lover? He was barely either of those long enough to be called an ex anything. "A friend of mine wanted to bring me here, but we never managed to find the time."

  "Oh. Good." Heath draws in smoke, but coughs it out in a second or so. He waves a hand in front of his face, eyes red-rimmed. He laughs, though, not embarrassed.

  The momentary strangeness that had threatened to turn this date from great to terrible has eased. Heath again leads the conversation the way he had at dinner, but I'm quieter now. Not as much to say. The hookah smoke is making my head spin a little, or maybe it's the couple on the couch. I'm convinced he's got his fingers inside her by the way she wiggles and sighs, the way she looks at his face.

  "...So we should definitely do that," Heath is saying.

  Once again he's caught me not paying attention. I don't want to seem insufferably rude, so I nod. He tilts his head a little, studying me. Those perfect brows knit for a moment.

  "Were you listening to me?"

  "I'm sorry, I didn't catch what you said. It's so loud in here." I wave a hand through the haze hanging between us and give him a smile he hopes thinks is sincere.

  Heath leans back in his chair. "I said, we should get together again next week. Maybe check out a movie? The new Quentin Tarantino looks good."

  Frankly, I'd rather poke out both eyes with plastic picnic spoons than see a Quentin Tarantino movie, but when he stretches to grab the menu again, my gaze is snared by the sight of his forearms below the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt. Maybe I could suffer through it for a chance to get my hands on those forearms, because sweet mother of mercy, it's like they came from a catalog of all things that get Maura hot and bothered. I want to bite the tendons in his wrists.

  Heath notices me staring and gives me another of those curious but somehow inscrutable looks. "You wanna get out of here?"

  "Yes." I do. Never mind the slightly off vibe. The man in front of me is everything any woman should ever want, and that's why I'm going on all these dates, isn't it? To find myself someone I want more than Ian? As I stand from my chair, the floor tips a little under my feet, and I laugh. "Whoa."

  "Hookah smoke isn't supposed to make you high." Heath says this with a twist of his mouth and a sideways glance down at me. "It's not like pot."

  I laugh a little as I turn so he can help me with my coat. "I've never smoked pot."

  "Good." He smooths the fabric of my coat over my shoulders and down my sleeves. He's standing very close behind me, and for a moment his hands circle both my wrists. I note again the size of them -- he easily holds me still even with the bulk of my sleeves.

  We don't move for what seems like far too long for propriety, Heath aligned along my back and holding me still. My heart thumps a little harder...is he...smelling me? I hear the intake of breath. I watch the couple on the couch, the man with heavy lidded eyes, his partner staring seriously into them. She's going to come. I'm sure of it. He's going to make her come, right there on the leather couch, and I'm the only one watching.

  Involuntarily, I tense internal muscles. I can actually bring myself to climax without touching myself by doing this -- a trick I learned in long, boring sociology classes with a super hot professor. It would take more effort and time than I have right now, standing here with Heath at last stepping away from me. But the sensation is there just the same, weakening my knees so that when I turn to face him, I reach for his arm to keep myself from stumbling.

  "Steady," he says. "I got you."

  In the parking lot, he walks me to my car while we talk about where we're going next. I have no suggestions. My head is filled with images of the couple on the couch and how she must've felt with his fingers easing her toward climax. All the colors seem bright. The air too cold on my hot cheeks.

  Ian said he'd kiss me there. Ian told me he would take me on that couch and make me come. Ian, Ian, Ian...

  "You're not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?"

  I pull myself from my reverie and give Heath an apologetic look. "I'm sorry."

  "You know, Maura, I picked you because I thought we'd be compatible. I liked your answers. I liked the way you look. You're very pretty." Heath shakes his head, then looks me up and down. "But you already know that. Don't you?"

  I'm not sure how to answer this. I've been told I'm pretty, but there've been plenty of times I've been shown up as plain, too. "Pretty's relative, I guess."

  "Not beautiful," Heath continues, as though I haven't spoken. "Your eyes are too wide for that. Your jaw's too square, and your mouth isn't quite full enough."

  I'm not sure what to say about this dissection. It's honest and accurate, and it's not necessarily cruel. Before I can say anything, not that I'm sure what to say, Heath smiles and turns to look at my backside.

  "But your ass...your ass, Maura, is perfection."

  I can't help laughing at that. "Thanks? I didn't have any pictures of my ass in my profile. Thank goodness it's not a disappoin
tment."

  "No. Your manners, on the other hand. They're a disappointment."

  He's serious. Both my brows go up, and I try to take an automatic step back, but Heath snakes out one long arm to keep from moving. By the rules of polite society, I'm expecting an apology, but that's not at all where he's going with this.

  "You're off in your own little world, aren't you?" He tugs me closer, one step. Another.

  We are in a public parking lot, and I'm not afraid of him, but I'm wary. "Yeah, I guess..."

  "You're with me. I'd like it if you're focused on me."

  "I'm sorry," I say stiffly.

  Heath leans so close to me his whisper easily carries to my ear. "You were watching that couple on the couch, weren't you."

  "Yes." I turn my head a little, and Heath's breath gusts over my neck. My heart's pounding again.

  "That was hot. Him getting her off like that. Oh, I saw it. You liked that?"

  I push away from him to look into his face. This evening has gone from pleasant to awkward and back again, and now I'm not really sure what the fuck is going on. I don't feel menaced, but my body tenses anyway. "Yes. I liked it. Did you?"

  My question seems to take him by surprise, because first his eyes go wide. Then narrow. His smile twists. "No. Because it meant you were distracted from our date. I find that unquestionably rude. In fact, if you were my girl, do you want to know what I'd have to do about it?"

  "What?" I spit the word like a challenge.

  I could resist when he turns me, firmly but gently toward the car. I could fight, kick, scream or push him away. But again, I don't feel menaced or afraid. I'm not quite sure I feel turned on, but it's a possibility. My hands go automatically in front of me on the hood of the car, like I'm being frisked by the police.

  Heath presses himself to my back and says into my ear, "yeah, like that. I knew you had it in you to be a good girl."

  "You did?" I hold back hitching laughter I'm sure he would take the wrong way. "I thought you just said I was insufferably rude. But with a great ass."